Collecting fragments of identity

Caught between her Nepali roots and Indian identity, Tamang recalls the day when democracy and violence collided.

Those bloods in her memories still stink. What was it about the violence that philosophy, history and literature often find themselves captive to the glory of displacement? She might, too, have found placid glamour in her pages. The radiance dimmed, and memories were exhausted, reclaiming its space against the interminable flow of time visible on its surface. Only after several years, and the patches that still have not worn out under the weight of time and cobwebs, had become memories of a past comprehensive and meaningful whole.